Paint You Up in my Badass Love, Baby
by Sleeveen
Summary: Tongue-in-cheek fill for a strange request over at the Kink Meme. Prompt: Mordin's tattoos are not actually tattoos, also, it has to be Mordin/Fshep. Weird, I know. But bear with me. Fill is humorous, tender and a little sexy. It's a little ridiculous too.
1. Chapter 1

Commander Shepard may not have been a beautiful woman, but that didn't mean she didn't know how to make the best of what she had. On Kasumi's mission she'd proven that she could strut around in heels and a short dress with the best of them. It would be impossible too, to deny that there wasn't something attractive in her eternal confidence.

She wasn't the type of woman to let an army of sentient space machines destroy _her_ galaxy, and she wasn't the type of woman to let someone tell her that no, she actually _couldn't_ wear makeup onto the battlefield either. If she felt like wearing Popping-Citadel-Cherry-Red Chapstick™ while kicking geth ass, then she was bloody going to do it.

When Shepard wanted something, you did not fuck with her. And if she wanted to wear Justicode Blue with shimmering action eyeshadow™, then you'd better damn well get used to it. Besides, it brought out her eyes quite nicely she thought, and Kelly had agreed, saying as much.

.

* * *

.

Shepard was just now coming back from a mission dealing with more slavers. It was therefore understandable why she was currently covered in various pieces of batarian and her lipstick was smudged something awful. After ditching the armour and taking a quick shower in her thankfully private quarters, she realised she couldn't find her powder brush.

Going through her drawers, cabinets and all the Cerberus bug-lined crannies, she remembered that Kelly had been one-short yesterday. The yeoman may have asked to borrow her's. That meant that the brush was either in the woman's washroom downstairs or it was going to have to be chalked up to yet another one of Legion's trinkets she'd find added to that creepy-yet-kind-of-flattering shrine he had going on.

She decided to check the washroom first, maybe grab a few of those little soaps that were always stocked up down there too. The embedded Cerberus logo was kind of cute actually, especially if she was using it to clean her ass.

.

* * *

.

The bathroom wasn't empty and that was no surprise; the _Normandy_ wasn't exactly the largest ship, and Cerberus had been pretty good about the whole equal opportunity hiring – at least where humans were concerned – so long as they were experts in their field.

What was surprising though, was the single occupant in the room.

"_Mordin_?"

The salarian was supporting himself with one hand, leaning over the counter and staring intently into the mirror. He was also using a very small ruler and an even smaller pencil to redraw what Shepard had previously though were facial tattoos.

"Shepard," he said , not looking up, "How can I help?"

There was a flurry of very immediate and pressing questions the commander suddenly needed to ask the good doctor. The one that won the race to verbalization first was, "Is that Jack's mascara?"

"Wrong," Mordin replied, as he made a tiny adjustment to his ruler. " Eyeliner, and not Subject Zero's. Uses it yes, but 'borrowed' from Miranda. Suspect without permission."

Distantly Shepard wondered if this was all some undisclosed side effect from her new Drell-stung Maximum Pucker Lip Plumper™ with advanced space collagen and minute dextro-essence extract formula.

Carefully she walked further into the small tiled room. When Mordin didn't dissolve into a cloud of dragonflies the commander felt a bit more confident in her reality. She made her way over to the basket that held all the little individually wrapped soaps and palmed a few.

When Mordin didn't say anything, she took the entire basket.

"You know," she said conversationally, as she filled her pockets and then bra with the ones left over, "I always figured you'd be the kind of guy to berate me for wearing makeup."

"No no," the doctor scoffed, "Understand woman's desire to feel beautiful. Aids confidence; helps assure mission completed to maximum efficiency." He put down the ruler and pulled out a small protractor from a tiny makeup bag Shepard was only now noticing. No, scratch that, _little_ _Gucci geometry case._

"Would never dream of interrupting human ritualistic behaviour," he said, going back to work on his design. "Experiments show negative results when superstitious routines disrupted."

Shepard gave one last adjustment to her bust-line – now three sizes larger. Her breasts crackled with any movement, but all it all it didn't look too bad. "You really know how to talk to a woman don't you, Mordin?" she joked, preoccupied with her own reflection now.

"Not just women. Men too. Turian clan markings good example. Image very important to culture even when historical significance less..." he trailed off as he finished the pointed edge of one artful curve, "...significant. Self-decoration important to drell too. Vital in securing attention of possible mate."

The ruler was brought out again, and he made another careful measurement. "Note Sere Krios' penchant to dress in teenage son's clothing. Recent dramatic escalations include multiple frill piercings and more constricted garments." Mordin took a deep breath. "Will need to remind him importance of uncovered chest."

That... that had been a lot more information that she'd bargained for, but it certainly explained the uncanny similarity between Thane and his son's clothing. _What had been the kid's name again?_ Oh well, it didn't really matter. Still, the idea that Thane was in the midst of some ridiculous drell mating ritual _was_ kind of cute. She wondered who the lucky lady might be, and made a note to visit Kasumi. Shepard figured she should probably ask if the thief knew anything about Mordin's propensity towards helping himself to things in the woman's washroom as well.

"So, is that why you're drawing big squiggles on your head then?" the commander asked, not without a trace of amusement. "You trying to catch the eye of some sweet little dame?"

Mordin exhaled sharply, and looked offended for a second. Being an especially high-strung salarian, he must have processed the resentment quickly though, because within the next half-second he was back to fixing his makeup.

"No, no, no. Reason much simpler! Nothing so complicated. Not military bravado, hormonal based mating attempts, nor routine for placating unfounded beliefs."

"Oh really now. So what's your excuse then? I hardly imagine you'd do something without a good reason."

"Astute observation," he replied, still focused on the mirror and finishing off the details of his work. "Don't need to explain myself, but rational simple enough," he said. "Feel pretty."

Shepard bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. On the bright side it didn't seem the doctor noticed, and if he did, he didn't care. Holding out his hand in the vague direction of the women's lockers, he said, "Cotton ball please."

There was just something about the authority in which he demanded his tools – or rather, someone else's since the washrooms only stocked soaps – that Shepard couldn't resist. Off she went to a door at random.

Being a sentinel meant that she had advanced tech abilities and since she was already breaking into other lockers, weapon stores and safes all over the galaxy, her experience in the arena was considerable. Shepard pulled out her omnitool and then realized that she was trying to hack an old-fashioned combination lock. She paused.

Then she ripped it off with her biotic space magic. _Piece of cake_. No one's privacy could ever hope to stand against her!

Opening the locker door, Shepard was greeted with a picture of Ken's smiling face. This must have meant it was Gabby's then. Shepard liked what the engineer had done with the doodled-on moustache; the monocle and top hat were nice touches too.

Riffling through the the woman's belongings, the commander eventually found a bag of cotton balls. These were handed to Mordin.

"Thank you," he said, immediately going to work on professionally blending in the edges of his design. He was doing a really good job of replicating this year's fashionable 'smoky-soft' look.

In fact, now that she thought about it, when it came to looks, Mordin wasn't half bad in that department. Sure he was by far the pruniest member of her crew, but there was just something about the way his skin hung. Those natural folds were actually kind of flattering.

She was just about to say so, when the doctor brought up his omnitool, inputted a few instructions and someone else's much more advanced lock deactivated. Mordin reached inside the now unbarred locker and pulled out a canister of hairspray that she recognized as also belonging to Miranda. Who else but her needed that much volumizing mist to tame their lustrous midnight mane?

A better question yet may have been, _what did Mordin need it for?_

The answer came soon enough. Closing his bulbous eyes, the doctor depressed the nozzle and sprayed the contents all over his head.

"No! Mordin! That's not how that works!" Shepard cried, appalled at the cosmetic abuse.

The doctor opened his eyes and gave her an unimpressed look as he replaced the container to its rightful spot and reactivated the security device.

"Please Shepard," he said indignantly. "Know what I'm doing. Main chemical agent in aerosol spray reacts with salarian skin. Bonds pigment."

Oh. Well then.

"Do you use any other cosmetics?" she asked curiously. "Like lipgloss?" Shepard paused just a beat before blurting out, "And can I do your makeup?"

Mordin sniffed. "Don't recommend sharing lips paints. Unsanitary. Bacterial cross contamination very real possibility."

"Sounds like a no then?"

Mordin ignored her and picked up a familiar jar of powder instead, continuing with, "also recommend discontinuing use of this product."

"Hey now!" Shepard said, the indignant one this time. "What's wrong with my Blood Rage rouge™ ? It's my favourite kind, and it exfoliates like a dream!"

Mordin frowned, jabbing his finger at the packaging. "Made with 'blood of your enemies.' Thresher maw known longtime krogan enemy. Shepard, contains thresher acid. Not exfoliating, _burning off top layer of epidermis!_"

"You may be overreacting a bit, Doctor," she said defensively.

"Face falling apart, Commander," he replied, pointing his finger at where her Cerberus implants were beginning to show through.

Suddenly Mordin's face – and his perfectly applied tread marks – were all too close. She fell silent, looking up at him as he grabbed her chin. Turning her face further upward, he gazed deeply into her eyes, and she felt her cheeks reddening without the help of Tuchanka's leading cosmetic brand.

"Come see me later," he said in that educated, slightly nasal voice of his. "Can provide antihistamine for bad case of red eye. Contagious. Recommend treatment as soon as possible."

He let her go, turning away and starting to pack up his supplies.

"Hey, Mordin?" She asked, feeling a little light headed.

"Hmm?" he answered noncommittally as he carefully folded up his compass.

"Why don't you whip up those eye-drops and bring 'em up to my cabin?"

The doctor looked back at her with a bemused expression.

"Bring your little algebra set too. I want you to apply one of your designs to my..." she ran a hand down her side and the soaps made loud, plastic crinkling noises, "...body." She smiled a wicked, coy little smile. "Consider it an exploration of inter-species xenoscience."

The salarian considered it, tapping his chin for all of one whole minute before announcing with a little smile of his own, "Yes. Will be there. Quite enjoy cultural pursuits."

Shepard's smile widened as she turned on her heel and sashayed out of the room. She was interrupted mid-strut when Mordin called out, "Oh, and Shepard?"

"Yes?" She asked, turning around and batting thick eyelashes.

"Inter-species xenoscience: a redundancy. Regardless, see you soon."

They both nodded to each other, and Shepard left to tidy up her suite.

.

* * *

.

She was just in the middle of dusting off her toy ships for the twelfth time today when she realised she'd forgotten all about the powder brush. _Damnit_.

Any further thoughts were interrupted when there was a knock at the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Throwing the cloth beneath the table, Shepard dove for her chair. When the doctor came in he'd see her lounging seductively, long legs peeking out from beneath a short, plush, dark green robe. The garment matched her eyes; again, something Kelly had confirmed.

Mordin stepped into the room quietly and put down a little briefcase he'd brought with him. He walked towards her smiling, and she loosened the belt of the only thing keeping her decent.

Then he walked right past her.

"Shepard, fish appear to be in poor health. Emancipated, evidence of cannibalization, water temperature too high for species." His face was briefly illuminated by the orange of his omnitool flaring to life. He looked up again, adding, "Current pH levels too high, algae levels also elevated, dissolved oxygen levels too low, mineral content–"

Shepard began to tune him out. Sometimes she forgot she had fish, but right now she was acutely aware that they were there, and that she hated them.

"So what's your professional opinion as a doctor?" she drawled, interrupting him with the first thing that came into mind and instantly regretting it. She hadn't invited Mordin up here for a friendly session of tank cleaning and water changing.

His answer though, was unexpected.

"Animals in poor condition. Short predicted life span. Suggest gift to Grunt. Krogan have taste for fish, could win loyalty. Sanitation a non-issue; diet consists of much worse."

In one smooth motion she stood up, and walked towards him. "You're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you, Mordin?"

The salarian didn't reply, and allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck and tuck her head under his chin. _Thank god he'd taken off that stupid chest-handle, or whatever the hell it was that he always wore as part of his armour._ Some days she just wanted to grab him by it and see how far she could fling him. Other days. Or really, just today. _Tonight._ She had half a mind to grab him and throw him onto the bed.

And while she may have been a little impulsive sometimes; like when she'd thrown that merc. out a window, or the time she punched that reporter, or when she'd hit that ranting lunatic back on Horizon... Well, she still wasn't stupid. Shepard knew damn well that if she tried to toss the former STG agent _anywhere_ he'd probably break both her arms. Hell, she was just amazed that he was in her room at all, let alone standing so close to her. Hadn't he said earlier that he wasn't interested?

Actually, come to think of it, why were they still just standing?

Intent on getting the ball rolling here, Shepard fiddled with the clasp on Mordin's shirt. "What are you thinking about?" she purred in her best sultry voice.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, idly raising a hand, Mordin stroked the back of it along her hair. _That had to be a good sign right?_

"First time in Captain's quarters," he said from where his chin was propped up on her skull. "Interesting, but inappropriate design. Too much luxury. Poor cover; excuse to hide surveillance tech. Nice though, very comfortable. Cerberus monitoring devices a shame."

"What?"

"Two," he said, holding up two thirds of his fingers and then inclining his head to both spots in her room. "Expensive underwater bug, bottom right corner of fish tank. Smaller, limited radius, audio-line," he took a breath. "Built into handle of desk drawer."

"Goddammit," Shepard said, frustrated both with Cerberus – not for the first time, and also with how unsexy this talk was getting. "I thought I'd gotten all of them," she confessed.

"Vested interest for Cerberus. Understandable increase in personal surveillance."

At this point, poor, lonely, battle-weary Shepard had had enough. All she wanted was some tender loving. _Was that too much to ask?_

"You know what, Mordin?" she said, pressing her covered breasts into the concave of his chest, "Screw the bugs, let 'em watch if they want."

Mordin lifted her arms and disentangled himself. "Told you already, doctor-patient relationship: a sacred trust."

With that, he made his way over to her nightstand. She watched as he keyed in a few short commands on his omnitool causing a tiny spark to explode over the handle of her top drawer. Walking past the large fish tank, a few more commands was all it took. The change was minute, but he tank's interior lighting darkened just a touch. She probably wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been watching.

Mordin nodded to himself, collected his briefcase and went to sit on her bed. "Lay down please."

"Easy enough," Shepard said grinning, finally beginning to feel that things were going the way they should be. She deserved this, she told herself. Saving the galaxy hadn't been easy the first time, and the second time 'round was no cake walk either.

Gracefully she reclined, arching her back just a little on the way down. "What do you want to do to me, Doctor?" she murmured, voice going low.

Mordin raked his fingers through her hair, uncovering her eyes. Leaning over her, he brought out a tiny vial. "Hold still please, administrating antihistamine."

Oh. The eye drops. She'd forgotten about those.

Rolling out of the way, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. "You know what, how about we skip the prescription, and get straight to the art?"

The salarian sighed and put the little container on her desk. "Imperative you use this Shepard."

_Right_, because allergy meds were _really_ going to help with the whole: I'm-sort-of-half-cyborg-now thing.

"I will," she promised, lying through her teeth.

Mordin looked unimpressed, but didn't pursue the topic.

To make sure that the doctor's mind stayed on task, she sat up fully and waved her hand over her wrist. Immediately the room's lights dimmed till only the soft blue glow of her only-slightly-toxic fish tank illuminated them both. Mordin looked _even better _in the dark.

"Can you see?" she asked, crawling over the bed towards him like some kind of svelte space koala of prey.

"Adequate lighting," he replied, pulling out his snazzy little geometry set again. "Care for music?"

Shepard briefly entertained the horrifying notion that he might put on an opera. Or worse, a speeded, higher pitched, salarian remix of one. She steeled herself, smiled and said, "Sure. Go ahead."

It was a relief when a pleasant lyrical voice floated over from her sound system. There was a gentle drumbeat behind what sounded like a group of woman humming an exotic melody. It wasn't really Shepard's style – a little too slow and smooth, but it certainly was relaxing.

"Asari hummed lullaby," Mordin explained, slowly setting out his tools. "Good for relaxation. Rhythm meant to slow heart rate."

Despite herself, Shepard yawned. "Didn't picture you as liking this sort of thing."

"Not for me," he said, shaking his head. "For patients. Now, where did you want design?"

Shepard took the opportunity to stand on her knees in front of him. She untied the belt to her robe, opening it and letting it slide down her arms. She had not a stitch on underneath, and was covered only in new scars and a few spots of metal where her upgrades were beginning to show through.


	3. Chapter 3

"I want you to paint all over this body," Shepard said shamelessly, eyes half lidded. Slowly she ran a hand from her neck down to her thigh, and this time there were no little soaps to add their voices.

"Very nice," Mordin said appreciatively. "Soft, flexible, good colour, high thread count." He picked up the robe, rubbing it between his fingers. "Should get one. Ivory maybe."

"Ivory is definitely your colour," the commander agreed with less enthusiasm. She stretched and rotated her neck, ignoring that she wasn't getting the attention she wanted. It was habit she'd picked up from one of her crew. It had started when she'd felt idle, and soon after had been passed through her squad like a bad VD.

"This, your colour I think," Mordin said, selecting a thin pencil from his line of tools.

Shepard took it from him, squinting at the name in the low light. "Salarian Sunset lipliner™," she said aloud as she read. Experimentally, she rubbed a bit onto her thumb and marvelled at how smooth the application was. To her delight, the liner wasn't just one colour, but many. It blended through the warm spectrum, rich hues of glimmering red-yellow-orange. "It says here," she said, noticing the fine print, "that it's edible."

Curiously she licked the tip of the pencil and Mordin's breath caught. "Don't waste it," he said alarmed.

Shepard made a face. "Ugh! That tastes like maggots!"

Mordin grinned, surprised she could pick out the subtle nuances in his favourite flavour. "Very expensive brand. Particular larva used: a delicacy. Only found in remote rainforests of two worlds."

"You like this shit?" Shepard asked, incredulous.

"Looks much better on you," Mordin complimented before taking the liner back and setting to work. "Starting with face," he instructed. "Look up."

Shepard went quiet and allowed him to cup the side of her face as he drew the first line down the centre of her forehead and along the bridge of her nose. The next two lines arced under each of her eyes. Pressing against her eyelids gently, he urged her to close them. When she did, he drew shapes that curled upward, disappearing toward her temples. Another smooth whorl was drawn over her cheek, stopping just short of her jaw.

"So what –" Shepard started to ask, before fingertips on her lips silenced her.

Slowly Mordin drew a thicker line over her lips and down her chin. Nudging her face gently, he continued the shape along her throat and stopped only once he'd reached the hollow of her neck. Shepard swallowed and had to open her eyes. She _had_ to look at him, _had_ to make sure the man in front of her was still the excitable, fast-talking doctor she knew. These lingering caresses and briefest points of contact were something profoundly new to her. She hadn't thought this was something he would be capable of, and being honest with herself, she hadn't imagined the session would be quite this enjoyable either. Her skin felt almost alive, tingling slightly while it waited for the next cool touch of the pencil.

To his credit, though he saw how the muscles in her neck moved when she turned to look at him, Mordin didn't look up. Dragging the pencil along Shepard's collar bone earned him a soft sigh. Another line was added bisecting the first, curving over her back and ending in a tight spiral around her shoulder. From there Mordin drew the pencil down till he had completed a coloured band over her bicep.

Resting her head in the palm of her hand, Shepard watched the doctor work. She was thankful now for the music because he'd been virtually silent since they'd started this. After another quiet moment she remembered that she'd had a question. It was hard to focus she realised, everything felt so comfortable and calm.

Reigning in her wandering mind, she forced her voice to work, asking, "Where did you learn to do this? And what exactly is it all anyway?" Surprised at how husky her voice sounded, she cleared her throat.

"Dalatrass pattern," Mordin replied. "Modified of course, asari influence. Different facial structure."

He was holding one of her arms aloft now, tracing ornate lines chasing each other down toward her hand. "Decoration for ancient homecoming ritual," he said, pausing to move back up her body and starting work on her other arm. "No longer celebrated," he added with what might have been a sigh.

A comfortable silence fell over the room, and for a while Shepard felt no need to break it. _This was nice._ It wasn't what she had wanted originally, but truth be told, she preferred this treatment. It was a refreshing change, one that was practically alien after the constant battles and micro-management she was responsible for as captain.

Picking up where their conversation had left off, she asked with no real purpose, "Don't you think 'homecoming' is a little inappropriate? We're floating in deep space here; light-years away from where any of us come from. "

Mordin didn't say anything until he'd finished freehanding another arch under her bare breast. Her nipples pebbled at the contact and goosebumps flowed over her skin, but she kept herself from rubbing her arms. The patterns drawn there were too intricate and honestly, too beautiful to ruin.

When Mordin spoke up, she'd already forgotten her question. "Homecoming not for planetary residence," he said softly, brushing his thumb over her breast and smudging the colour there, replicating a pattern beyond her understanding. "For ... _soul_."

Shepard made a soft, pleased noise as she leaned forward into the touch. Reaching up, she ran her own thumb over his cheek – or where his cheek would have been had his head not been shaped like some kind of root vegetable. The gesture left a glittering trail of burnish orange. "Don't get all religious on me, Mordin," she said, teasing.

The doctor ducked his head as he continued the painted path to her navel. "Mentioned 'this body,' earlier; not 'my body.' Rebuilt by Cerberus," he said, looking up. He trailed the knuckles of one hand from her belly to her sternum as he spoke. "Remarkable work, nearly flawless; incredibly complex. Not yet end of month. Adapted well."

Her blanket of contentedness started to go a little cold around the edges.

"Still, understand novelty. Foreignness of change. Incomplete muscle memory. _Unfamiliarity._" For the first time tonight Mordin made direct eye contact; and for a moment it was a struggle to not to look away. Tilting his head toward the complex decorations over her skin, he said simply, "Tenement for soul. Home now, Shepard."

The joke she'd been about to say committed suicide in her throat. She looked down at herself. Past the designs growing over half her body, past the scars and metal that shouldn't be there and past everything. For the first time in a long time. _In a lifetime_, she felt like she wasn't just looking at some borrowed container. Of course the idea had never bothered her before, and she certainly wasn't the type to dwell on things like that, but looking at herself now, following the delicate filigree Mordin had drawn... well, she finally felt like _herself_.

This was the complete, upgraded, special edition package that was entirely Commander Shepard. _All the better to kick asses with._

She turned her face to the ceiling and blinked rapidly. Only when she was sure she had a hold of herself, did she look back down to where Mordin was outlining her thigh. With her free hand she rubbed at the moisture that had snuck into the corners of her eyes, inadvertently smearing the colours there.

Mordin looked up, seemed to consider the change, nodded to himself, and then mimicked the action on her other eye, wiping two fingers over the socket and leaving a flaming trail of pigment.

"Better," he said, before moving on to an unpainted knee.

Shepard gave the doctor a fierce, confident smile. "Tell me," she asked, "how long have you been planning this?"

Mordin's lips curled upward but he shook his head. "Enough talking, need silence now. No more interruptions, want to finish this." He tapped her shoulder. "Down again. Turn around please."

Grinning to herself, she eased her way back down to the sheets, making sure not to disturb the drawings as much as she could. Resting her head in the crook of her arm, she murmured, "You sly salarian sonofabitch," before letting out another yawn. She didn't care if the doctor heard or not; nothing in her tone held anything but affection.

Either way he didn't deign to comment, instead returning to his designs.

"You know, Mordin," Shepard said eventually, taking advantage of the new silence between changing music tracks, her voice flirtatious and teasing, "I've always had a thing for doctors."

This time his reply was immediate.

"Yes, Dr. Chakwas an amazing woman, can understand attraction."

In the end she couldn't help it, and even though she'd done so well lasting through the entire day, Shepard just had to laugh. So she did, and with it came the tears, finally falling. But it was alright because they were temporary and happy ones.

The galaxy needed to watch out, because the commander had just rediscovered her stride. She was at the top of her game now and the Reapers didn't stand a damn chance. Neither did Mordin for that matter; as soon as he was done this, she was going to kiss him. In fact, she was going to give him the deepest most passionate kiss of his life. It would have to wait though, because right now she'd be crazy to stop him from doing his soothing, sexy voodoo. And it was funny, but for all the climate control trappings her room boasted, she still felt like there was a warm stream of water trickling down her spine.

"Try to stay still," Mordin chastised gently.

Shepard gave one last defiant wiggle of her bottom, skewing another careful shape he'd been working on and causing him to sigh. Eventually though she did go still, letting the the tranquil music wash over her.

She didn't even notice she'd fallen asleep until she woke up the next morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Shaking off the last tendrils of dreamless rest, Shepard stretched languidly. Running her hands through her hair, she looked at the clock on her desk. _Good, enough time for a shower before hitting the deck. _That's when she noticed the little vial Mordin had left. Reaching over, she picked it up before tossing it into the nearest trash bin. When he no doubt asked after it, she'd claim innocence.

Rubbing her cheek caused Shepard to pause. There was a slight difference in consistency along her skin. Rubbing harder, she felt the liner from yesterday blur under her touch. Smiling to herself, she made her way to her washroom and more importantly; to the mirror. She didn't hurry and it wasn't because she didn't want to see the culmination of Mordin's work, but quite the opposite. She was a woman who enjoyed the suspense.

When she reached the mirror she saw her reflection and her eyes roamed over the curves and hard edges of her body. It was true she hadn't been born with the most flattering of shapes, and the harsh lifestyle of a Spectre did nothing to help soften her appearance. Despite all this, she was still impressed with what she saw. Intricate lines wove over and around her in complex patterns that only accentuated what she had.

Obviously all of Mordin's 'research' involving vids of women in various states of undress had payed off; he'd clearly learned how to appreciate the nude form. Dimly Shepard wondered after the doctor's sordid past. He had after all, been the equivalent of a secret agent and even managed to land a lady or two for himself back in his hay day. Hell, for an alien he was pretty hot stuff. She'd seen the looks he got in the dark bars while they were on shore leave. In fact, she was pretty sure a krogan had bought him a couple drinks the last time they'd been to the Dark Star.

But enough about Mordin, this was her 'me time'.

Posing in the mirror, she marvelled at the way the colours blended and changed in the light. Small rivers of red blended into fiery oranges which in turn became warm golden yellows. The glittering pigments were like little pieces of light and they made her feel like a queen. _The asari had nothing on her._

Laughing, she ran her hands down her arms and watched as the colours pooled and ran around her fingers. It was just then that she noticed what might have been a very small string of algebra curved over her hip. Curiously she turned around and tried to looked at her back.

Things started out fine as graceful lines swept around the nape of her neck and spilled over her shoulder blades like thin tongues of flame. Once they hit her spine though, things started to get weird. A very straightforward arc seemed to slowly merge into a circle. This, attached to another circle, eventually because the nodes in some type of complicated diagram. A few more diagrams later and they became the surprisingly accurate depictions of a couple complex molecules.

Further down, toward the small of her back was where the math started. She didn't recognize some of the symbols, but was impressed that Mordin had started to incorporate familiar human constants like pi and... well, that was about all the ones she had names for. She did however recognize a few as being Latin-based. Probably. Maybe. _Who cared._

It seemed like the doctor had made a valiant effort to get back on track before getting distracted and sketching a very small fish. The algebra started again where the fish left off, and became quite quickly the simplified picture of a krogan with its mouth open. A few centimetres away and she found a school of fish this time, trailing toward the inside of her thigh. It looked like they were going to be eaten.

Travelling further down still, Shepard found a flattering if not slightly smudged depiction of Chakwas lovingly rendered over the curve of her ass. Under that was another molecule diagram, some more math - the end of which had spilled over her hip – and then long strands of gibberish that signified Mordin writing in his own alien language. Alternatively, this was just further proof of the natural law stating that legibility decreased exponential the closer you got to a doctorate. The incomprehensible text ran the length of one leg and ended in a neat little arrow drawn along the bottom of her foot. Turning around a few more times and inspecting herself, Shepard for the life of her, couldn't figure out what the arrow was supposed to point to.

It was only once she was back in her room that she noticed where the rest of Mordin's handiwork was hidden. Draped over one side of the bed were her _Normandy_ standard sheets covered in lines and lines of alien script. Skimming over it, Shepard could only make out one cluster of Roman characters; 'Joker'.

The commander was just starting to wonder if she should be at all concerned with this, or the mysterious disappearance of all her pillows when she noticed the writing on her walls. In very neat, precise, perfectly crossed-out English was the following:

_Thank you Shepard. Have been inspired. Finally found cure for Vrolik Syndrom._

Underneath that was the addendum:

_Disregard that, causes acute blepharospasm. Starting again back at lab. Took annotated pillows. Thank you._

And then, on an adjacent wall because Mordin had apparently been running out room, was a final:

_Dismissed Legion while you slept. Wanted "samples." Refused fish and took laundry articles instead. _

_Fascinating habit but strongly suggest addressing issue._

The End

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Note:

This site's auto-format has killed more than a few of my stories' html styles, but if you wanted to see them in all their glory, you can check where they've been cross posted on either my personal site, or Archive of our Own; both of which are linked in my profile. PS: The password to anything Mass Effect related on my site is: "Citadel". You can find an author's note for this story on my personal site as well.

Thank you for reading.


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